


Overture

by the_storm_winds



Series: Symphony [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Post-Predacons Rising, Resurrection, completely ignores RiD15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 20:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_storm_winds/pseuds/the_storm_winds
Summary: Optimus reawakens.For the first time in two years, light breaks through the bleakness of Ratchet's world. They won't waste this second chance.





	Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "[Overture II](https://youtu.be/fcOKEW6qpEs)" by Sleeping At Last.

_Around him were faces he'd never seen. Faces he knew as well as his own._

_“Do you remember us, Brother?”_

_The world rotated, blending, a mandala._

_“I remember.”_

_“You seek to return. Why?”_

_“I've found family in the world above,” he answered._

_“Very well.”_

_“Since your spark has separated from your frame, we can only send you back through the Well.”_

_“But do not worry; we will return your memories to you when you awaken.”_

 

* * *

 

Optimus onlined in a shallow oil spring, surrounded by soft protometal and nestling young sparks.

It was warm. He shuttered his optics, letting it seep through him.

He flexed the digits of one servo experimentally. His frame felt small and light, the metal still supple from having just formed.

“You're not the mech I was expecting to see,” a voice said from above. He looked up and found the owner—a red racer.

“Knock Out,” he greeted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “I could say the same of you.”

“They're desperate enough for more wheels and servos that they've finally decided to trust me.”

“I'm glad,” he said. “We're making steps towards peace.”

“I do appreciate not having to worry that I'll be offlined every solar cycle. Although…” He looked away, field tightening close around him. “It doesn't much matter anymore now, does it?”

The question didn't seem to be directed at him, so he made no attempt to provide an answer. He'd seen such attitudes time and time again during the war—this bot had lost someone.

He had to find Ratchet.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Knock Out scoffed. “What would you know?”

They were both silent for a klick. Finally Knock Out spoke again, “Come now, let's get you back to civilization. You're no newspark, but I imagine the others will be happy to see you nonetheless.”

He nodded, taking his servo as he offered it and pulling himself to his pedes. “Thank you.”

Knock Out gave a weak smile. Then he stepped back and flicked his optics up and down Optimus's new frame, the critical eye of a medic achingly familiar. “Hm, still soft. You'd best wait another solar cycle before transforming. Looks like we're walking back.”

They fell into step, making their way through rust plains, past old bomb craters and fresh ore growths alike.

“He visited the Well every solar cycle after you disappeared into it,” Knock Out said, breaking the silence. Optimus didn't need to ask who he meant.

“Always the same time, just before sunrise. Sometimes he wouldn't come back until evening, exhausted and low on fuel. The rest of your team worried.” His optics stayed fixed straight ahead as he spoke. He chuckled humorlessly, gaze dropping to the ground. “They made me take turns at babysitting him more than a few times. Afraid he'd try to jump in after you or some scrap like that."

Optimus's spark wrenched.

“I didn't ask what you were to him, and he didn't tell me,” Knock Out continued, voice low. He hesitated, before adding, “He didn't need to.”

“We never truly made our relationship official, but… we had plans to.”

“And now you'll be able to carry them out.” His tone carried a bitter note. “Your Ratchet had better realize how lucky he is.”

Optimus nodded solemnly. If he could only bring back every loved one lost during the war, he would in the blink of an optic. He and Ratchet were exceedingly fortunate to have each other alive now—although not without much suffering along the way.

“How long was I gone?”

“About…” Knock Out paused, calculating. “Just over one and a half stellar cycles. Two Earth years.”

Pit, that was a long time. He'd guessed maybe a lunar cycle, two at most. “And Ratchet… How is he now?”

“Coping, better than he was. He's back on Earth now, as far as I know, probably either with your humans or that little rescue team.”

He was glad to hear that, though he hoped Ratchet wasn't overworking himself.

Darkness fell as they walked. They reached the ruins of an old Decepticon army outpost and Knock Out stopped. “I don't know about you, but I need my recharge,” he said as he ducked under a ledge and sat down.

He pulled two medium sized energon cubes from his subspace and held one out to Optimus. “This was all I could carry, I'm afraid. Drink up; Bumblebee will have me for scrap if he sees I brought you back underfueled.”

Optimus took the cube with a word of thanks and found a place to settle as well. Knock Out no longer seemed interested in conversation; he downed his energon within the span of a few klicks and then curled onto his side, his back to Optimus.

Optimus watched him while he nursed his cube, smiling to himself. Though the ex-Decepticon was acting distant, going into recharge before him was also an expression of trust. He supposed he wasn't much threat as he was now, in what was more or less the frame of a newspark, but the sentiment was appreciated nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

“Rise and shine, sweetspark!”

Optimus onlined with a start to Knock Out all but shouting at him from above.

“There we go.” Knock Out straightened, crossing his arms. “I suppose your chronometer isn't properly calibrated yet. Get up and I'll fix that real quick.” Then he added, “So long as you're not against letting a _former Decepticon_ in your head, that is.”

Optimus got to his pedes. “We cannot forge peace without mutual trust.” He snapped open his lateral interface panel, which held his secondary medical port, more than sufficient for something as simple as a chronometer calibration.

Knock Out gaped at him. Then he nodded and pulled a cable from his forearm. Plugging in, he began tweaking the relevant lines of code with clipped professionalism.

It felt strange—Optimus couldn't remember the last time anyone other than Ratchet had done something like this as his medic.

“Please, spare me the thoughts of the things you do with Ratchet when he's plugged into you,” Knock Out said aloud. “I don't need that haunting my processor at night—unless you actually plan on inviting me.”

Primus, had he really went there? Hurriedly he clamped down on any thoughts of Ratchet and focused intently on remembering Cybertron's scenery and the signs of regrowth he'd seen as they walked.

Knock Out smirked. “I thought not.”

A klick later he pulled out, retracting his cable. “There we go. No more trying to oversleep.”

“Thank you, Knock Out.”

Knock Out blinked. “You're welcome,” he said. “Now, let's see your frame.”

Knock Out walked a circle around him, prodding at plating and joints. “You should be safe to transform now,” he said. “Finally. I'm sick of being stuck out here in the middle of Primus-forsaken nowhere.”

He ducked out of the cover of their shelter and transformed, revving his engine. Optimus followed suit, finding the activation sequence for his T-cog and executing it. His alt mode was much like the one he'd had for most of the war on Cybertron, if a bit smaller and lighter, and obviously lacking the military modifications.

“First try,” Knock Out teased. “You're a natural.”

He sped off, leading the way, and Optimus followed after him. They drove in silence, joors blurring by with the scenery as Optimus let himself fall into the meditative state that long drives brought on.

Night had fallen again by the time they reached their destination. There were a few proper buildings now; unlike when they'd all just been staying on the _Nemesis._ Knock Out led him to one, and directed him to stand to the side of the door, where he'd be out of sight to anyone within. “Wait here, and don't show yourself until I tell you. This is too good of an opportunity for a dramatic entrance to pass up.”

That was a bit of harmless fun, he supposed. Bemused, Optimus complied.

Knock Out stood silently for a klick, presumably comming whoever was inside. Then the door opened, illuminating the red medic with harsh artificial lighting and casting a long dark shadow behind him.

“Knock Out,” he heard Bumblebee say sternly. “What do you mean you ‘sort of’ found a newspark? Did you or not?”

“I meant _sort of,_ ” Knock Out answered, voice lilting with barely contained amusement. “And he's a _very_ interesting one, too.”

 _“Knock Out…”_ Bumblebee threatened.

“You can come out now,” he trilled.

Optimus stepped out into the light, just as Knock Out moved aside with a dramatic flourish.

“Meet… your favorite newspark.”

Bumblebee gaped. “Optimus? Wha— _How?_ I _saw_ you dive into the Well of Allsparks! You— You...” He gestured at him helplessly with his servos. “I thought you were gone!”

“Hello, Bumblebee.” He smiled. “I was granted another chance.

 

* * *

 

Bumblebee couldn't believe it. This was… really Optimus? Not like… a ghost with his face and voice? There were subtle differences in his detailing, true, and he was maybe a helm shorter than he'd been for most of the time Bumblebee had known him, but this wouldn't be the first time he'd returned seemingly from the dead in a new frame.

“I… Wow, um, here, come in.” He stepped aside to let him pass. “Let me get you some energon; you must be starving.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Knock Out piped up from behind Optimus.

“Right, yes, you too.” He _had_ almost forgotten. But Knock Out had brought Optimus back safely, presumably from a hot spot, in the delicate and unarmed frame of a freshly forged newspark, if the gleefully smug hints he'd dropped via comm were to be believed. It seemed as though trusting him might've been a good call after all.

He dashed to the nearest storeroom and returned with two cubes, handing them to Optimus and Knock Out.

“Thank you,” Optimus said as he took his.

“I'm really sorry you guys had to drive back,” Bumblebee apologized. “Wheeljack tried to upgrade the ground bridge two solar cycles ago to increase the range enough to reach the far side of Cybertron, but he only succeeded in making it electrocute anyone who tried to go through.”

“It was no problem,” Optimus said. He took a sip from his cube, then looked around. “Where are the others?”

He thought for a moment, counting the other bots off on his digits. “Smokescreen went out this morning to scout for hot spots. Ultra Magnus and Arcee are off world negotiating with nearby planets, trying to see if we can repair our relationships with other species now that the war is over… That's been unexpectedly tough.” He supposed it shouldn't've been a surprise that their galactic neighbors saw them as warlike and cruel, but that didn't make the reality of it any more pleasant.

He continued, “Bulkhead has been rebuilding infrastructure with the help of the vehicons. A few other bots have made their way back to Cybertron but they're all busy elsewhere, too.” He'd have to spread the news of Optimus's return and introduce him to them later. “Wheeljack and I have been here managing communications and watching two of the newsparks we've found so far—well, I have been, anyway,” he corrected. “He's mostly been messing with the ground bridge. The newsparks are recharging right now, thank Primus.”

Newsparks were a joy to have around, but also constant trouble. All of them were extremely young, mostly only having been found within the past few lunar cycles. He'd been surprised, but Ratchet had explained that, with how recently Cybertron had been restored to a life-sustaining state, it was understandable that it had taken some time for enough _sentio metallico_ to form for the sparks to take root in.

That reminded him… “You _have_ to go see Ratchet.” His mood sobered as he recalled how Ratchet had been after Optimus had gone, and how downcast he still was whenever Bumblebee saw him. “He took what happened to you harder than anyone,” he said quietly. “He's on Earth right now. We convinced him to go back because he couldn't stop visiting the Well of Allsparks when he was here. I always knew the two of you were close, but…” He shook his helm. “It was bad.”

Optimus nodded. “The sooner I see him, the better.”

“I'll prepare the space bridge for you right away— No, wait, we'll bring him here, since we also need his help to fix the ground bridge. I'll go comm him right now.” He dashed off again, over to their communications console in the next room.

He set up a burst message destined for their Earth base and clicked on the microphone.

“Ratchet?” he said into it, barely containing his excitement. “We need you back here as soon as possible. Two reasons—we need you to fix the ground bridge since Wheeljack broke it again, but besides that… There's someone you need to see. I don't think you'll believe me if I tell you, so just… trust me and come see for yourself.”

He heard Optimus's pedesteps approaching from behind just as he hit ‘send’.

“It'll take a few klicks for the message to go through,” he told him. This was a specialized long distance comm unit, and a few klicks was the fastest they could make it with anything short of a miniaturized space bridge, which Ratchet still hadn't mastered. He seemed to prefer work he could do mindlessly. Arcee said she understood. Bumblebee didn't, but he tried his best to sympathize nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

Ratchet shook his helm, exasperated. What in Unicron's name was Bumblebee going on about?

He was in their former base in Hangar E, where he'd been disassembling and cleaning some of his tools—unnecessary work, if he was perfectly honest, but the repetitive motions helped to put his processor at ease, and there were few enough things that did that—while Raf sat beside him, reading from a datapad on Cybertronian history and occasionally piping up with a question if he had difficulty understanding a phrase. Then the console had pinged him with a long distance comm from Cybertron and thoroughly disrupted his evening.

“It sounds important,” Raf said from behind him. “You should probably go.”

“Yes, yes…” He wished he didn't have to. Just being on Cybertron hurt. He didn't want to think about what it would remind him of. At least on Earth, he could pretend to forget.

Raf walked over and leaned against the side of his ankle, silent comfort that Ratchet appreciated. He shuddered a rough exhale through his vents.

“All right, I'll go.”

Raf smiled up at him.

Ratchet sent a message back in reply, saying “All right, send the bridge.”

He began to gather up tools while he waited—anything he could imagine being useful for a ground bridge repair. He wished Bumblebee could've told him what part of the bridge needed fixing, but the young warrior more than likely didn't know anything beyond the fact that it was broken. He ended up with probably more than he would need, but it was better to be safe than to have to make an extra trip back to get them. Even without an energon shortage, there was no point in wasting more than they needed to.

The green swirl of the space bridge opened with a resounding buzz of energy. He sighed again.

“Say hi to Bee for me,” Raf said.

“I will.” His optics lingered fondly on the child, one of the few whose company he could bear. Then he stepped forward into the portal.

Their base on Cybertron started to come into focus at the end of the tunnel, and even the feel of the air brought a too-familiar ache to his spark. He shuttered his optics, steps faltering. He could turn around. Say he'd forgotten something he needed. Tell Bumblebee he'd come back tomorrow.

“Ratchet!” A painfully familiar voice shattered his thoughts.

His optics flew open, and there—there was that red and blue frame.

He _knew_ that frame.

That voice.

The world seemed to spin and freeze all at once. Distantly he heard a clatter of metal as the tools he was carrying dropped from his servos, but any part of him that might have cared was too wrapped up in the sight of the bot before him to notice.

Was it… really…

“Optimus?” His vocalizer tried to form the word, but the sound got lost somewhere between the whirling of his spark and the static in his processor, as it tried to comprehend howthis could be possible and spun itself into a loop.

He took a shaky step forward, then his autonomics took over and he was running, the only thing in his awareness a spark-deep need to reach the mech he'd been certain he'd lost.

Optimus held his arms out, and Ratchet all but leapt into them. Optimus stumbled backwards as the force of his weight nearly barreled him over.

Ratchet gasped when he felt his field, warm and there and _his._ He squeezed him tight, intakes rough and rapid as though he could draw him in through his vents. “You're alive,” he managed to choke out.

“Ratchet,” Optimus said, close beside his audial. “I'm sorry for leaving you.”

Ratchet drew back enough to look at him, taking in every detail of his face, the smile on his lips and in his optics. “It's… _Pit,_ Optimus, it wasn't all right. But now you're… you're really…” Relief flowed through every part of his frame and he sagged in Optimus's arms, venting a laugh. His vision blurred with excess optical cleansing fluid, and he blinked a few times to clear it.

_Primus, don't let this be a dream._

He slid his servos behind Optimus's helm and pulled him down into a kiss, glossa slipping forward to taste him, feel him, confirm that he was _real._ Optimus kissed back, his lips moving hungrily against Ratchet's, and oh how he'd needed this—

There was a second clatter from the still open space bridge behind him. Optimus pulled back with a quiet chuckle. “It seems we've shocked poor Bumblebee.”

“He was bound to find out eventually,” Ratchet said, voice laced with static. He hadn't even realized they had an audience, and at this point he didn't care. The war was over, anyhow, so there was no longer a need for secrecy.

He ran his thumb along the curve of Optimus's audial and the latter shivered minutely, a bloom of warmth appearing in his field. Right, he probably shouldn't do _that_ here, but…

 _Later,_ he promised silently.

He settled his servos on Optimus's chest and curled into him, leaning his forehelm against his windshield. He felt brittle, fragile, yet safe here in his arms. He shuttered his optics just as the liquid pooling in them finally spilled over. “I missed you, Optimus,” he whispered.

Optimus pressed a kiss to the top of his helm. His field saturated him, fluttering with a soft joy and tenderness that made Ratchet's spark ache in the sweetest, most healing way possible.

“I'm here to stay.”


End file.
